


The Way the Pagan Gods Are Half-Remembered Here

by badgerling



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blowjobs in a Dive Bar Bathroom, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Buzzed Tony Stark, Canon Divergence - Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Civil War will not happen in this universe, Drunk Bathroom Blowjob, M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, POV Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-15 18:07:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14795381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badgerling/pseuds/badgerling
Summary: It was probably Tony's fault that he kept going to bars to deal with everything after Ultron. It was probably even his fault when he followed a beautiful man into the bathroom. It was definitely his fault when he didn't run for the door when he realized that that man was Bucky Barnes. It was not his fault for getting attached.





	The Way the Pagan Gods Are Half-Remembered Here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sevedra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevedra/gifts).



> Prompt: AU, same powers, mostly same circumstances as in MCU, alternate meeting, alternate reveal of Winter Soldier's killing of Tony's parents, happy ending
> 
> Marvel owns them, not me.

Dive bars had never been Tony's thing. He was used to a better class of establishments with a better class of alcohol and occasionally better food. But Tony wasn't really interested in a better class of establishment right now. Hadn't been in a long time, actually, certainly not since Ultron and certainly not since Pepper had decided...well, since Pepper had decided that the sensible and safe thing for her to do was get as far away from him as she could. That worked out in the end, though. Pepper kept the company running, kept it profitable, and she could handle the Board of Directors far better than Tony ever could.

It worked, but now the Tower was empty. Quieter than it had been even when it had just been him and Pepper.

The Avengers were set up nice and happy at the Compound. Tony got them anything they needed, but he wasn't part of that world, that team, anymore. He had made that choice already.

So. Dive bars. Loud, obnoxious places that smelled like greasy food and cheap booze.

Absolutely no chance of running into anyone he knew.

Tony was belly-up to the bar, a beer bottle in his hands. Some generic brand, this place wasn't even classy enough for name brand beer, but it was what Tony wanted right then. That and a bartender that didn't ask questions, not to Tony and not to anyone else in the bar. It was his fifth bottle, dangerously close to his own personal cut-off limit. A cut-off limit that had expanded in recent weeks.

Boredom, and yes, loneliness, though Tony would never, actually, admit that that had any effect on him. He drank just to be around people.

But not actually around people, he didn't want to socialize. His eyes kept scanning the crowd, though. He told himself he was people-watching, looking at all the interesting citizens of New York City, but he couldn't lie to himself about the real reason he kept scanning the crowd.

He was looking for threats.

And that was probably why his eyes kept returning to the man sitting next to him, wearing a dark hoodie, gloves despite the surprisingly warm winter that had turned into an early even warmer spring, hat pulled down over dark hair and hooded eyes. He looked like a threat.

He also looked familiar.

It was when the bartender brought Tony a sixth beer and asked the man in the hoodie if he was actually planning on drinking the completely full glass in his hands, that was what gave Tony the courage to lean a little closer, balancing seemingly precariously on the barstool as he did so.

"You look familiar," Tony said, making sure to slur his words just enough to seem like a harmless drunk.

The man didn't respond, not at first, but when he did, his voice was quiet, raspy like he hadn't used it in a couple of days, possibly longer. "No. I don't."

"No, you do. I _know_ you."

"You don't."

Tony scoffed, sliding off the barstool and stood beside the other man. He would never be able to say why, exactly, he grabbed the man's wrist. If this guy was who Tony thought he was, he was impossible and impossibly dangerous. His fingers wrapped around the man's left wrist, pushing the sleeve of the hoodie out of the way easily.

Cold metal met his hands instead of warm flesh.

He looked up sharply to find the man staring at him. Tony didn't get the chance to say anything, not before the man pulled away hard. The force of that movement actually gave the man enough momentum to knock himself off the barstool and onto his feet. He tossed a few crumpled dollar bills onto the bar before he headed across the bar room toward the little hallway that led to the bathrooms.

Tony was a moron. A moron with a slight buzz from the beer, not enough to be really drunk, his tolerance for booze had been built up over decades, but that buzz came with a burst of stupid courage. He grabbed the money the man had dropped and followed him across the room. By the time he got to the hallway, it was empty. But there was nowhere for the man to have gone. There was no fire exit down the hall.

That left only the bathroom, and Tony hesitated for a moment outside the door to the men's room.

When he finally pushed the door open, he made sure to make as much noise as he could. A production. The drunken moron stumbling into the bathroom. Only the room was empty and quiet, and Tony felt like an idiot as the door swung shut behind him.

But only for a moment because the door only had a second to click shut before Tony was hit hard, his body slammed back against the door, a heavy, metal arm pressed against his throat.

"The hell did you come from?" Tony said before the arm was pressed tighter against his throat. Logically, probably from the stall to Tony's left, it wasn't like he had had the time to search the stalls for the mysterious man.

Tony was pushed harder against the door, and he pressed his hands back against the wood of the door, splaying his fingers out. He was harmless, unarmed, and it would take at least three minutes for a suit to get here, and Tony would be dead by then if the arm at his throat was any indication.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe Tony had simply become more reckless since Ultron and Sokovia. But once he realized that the pressure on his throat wasn't getting worse, he wasn't choking to death or being strangled, that he was still taking in enough air to, probably, talk, Tony held up the hand with the crumpled dollar bills in it.

"I put your drinks on my tab. I'm good for it." He hadn't actually told the bartender that, but he made a mental note to do that once they were done with death threats in the bathroom.

The man didn't take the money, though, and eventually, Tony put the money on the edge of the closest sink he could reach. The arm was still pressed against his throat, but the pressure eased enough that Tony no longer felt like he was in immediate danger of dying. That fact gave him an additional nudge of stupidity and bravery as he reached up with one hand and used his fingers to tip the brim off the hat back until he could remove it completely.

That startled the man enough that the pressure eased completely off of Tony's throat. His arm was still there, but he was no longer strangling Tony. Which was good considering that Tony locked eyes with the man and suddenly he forgot how to breathe on his own.

The man was stunning. Desperately stunning, and Tony's mouth was dry, his breathing shallow, and he swore his heart skipped a beat, but that was utterly ridiculous. That was stupidly, utterly ridiculous, and yet, Tony found himself stuck, unable and unwilling to looking away.

The man finally stepped back, taking his arm away from Tony's throat, but Tony didn't move away from the door. Not immediately. He did reach behind him and lock the door. He didn't want them to be disturbed.

Tony forced himself to look away from the man, though. He had to. If he wanted to actually be able to speak, he had to look away. He still saw the tension in the man, the way his hands balled into fists at his side.

"I'm Tony," he finally said, keeping his own hands relaxed at his sides. Still harmless, still unarmed, no longer fearing for his life. Mostly because...well, what a way to go, right? Beautiful man killing him in the bathroom of a dive bar. It seemed fitting.

"I don't...I don't know you." Those words made Tony deflate a little. But only a little, mostly because he looked up then, locking eyes with the man again, and he couldn't help the small smile that pulled across his face. For his part, the other man just looked at him with confusion.

"Alright. So. What am I supposed to call you?" The man didn't answer, he only shrugged, but he did take a step forward. He no longer looked confused, not entirely, and he hadn't looked away from Tony. "Okay. Let's see." Tony relaxed, shifting his weight until he was leaning against the sink. He was going to need to sanitize his clothes after touching anything in this bathroom. He shook his head, shaking away that thought. "I could make up a name. John? Luke? You seem like a Luke."

The man shook his head and finally looked away, his eyes locking on the floor.

"No? Alright. Can't call you Clint or Bruce or Steve..." The man looking away broke whatever spell was keeping Tony staring at the man. He looked down, but still found himself watching him out of the corner of his eyes. He saw the man's head lift in one sharp movement at the mention of the name 'Steve'. "I know a Clint, a Bruce, and a Steve," he said, waving those names away with a hand.

"James." Tony had to actually look at the man now. He hadn't actually expected to get the man's name, to get that close to the confirmation the he was Tony thought he was, but Tony was pretty sure _that_ was impossible. He'd seen the footage out of D.C. of course, but no one had seen the masked man since then...

The man was still watching Tony closely, cautiously, the tension back in his body like he expected a fight, and it was several moments in complete silence punctuated only by someone pounding on the bathroom door. "It's occupied!" Tony finally said, shouting through the door.

"James is fine," the man said.

"I know a James, though, it could be confusing," Tony said, but he said it absently with no real feeling behind it. Rhodey had always been Rhodey, after all. "James," he said again,saying the name like he was tasting it, take his time, and he smiled a little as he stepped forward. He kept his hands relaxed at his sides, even though he wanted to rub his throat where the arm had been pressed against it. There would be bruises, certainly, but Tony had had worse, and there was a distraction in the room.

James was beautiful. Haunted eyes, hollow cheeks, four day old stubble and everything. He was stunning, and Tony was having a hard time actually coming up with the right words. Or any words. That was an odd feeling.

"Stop staring," James said, and Tony knew it was an order, but it was an uncontrollable urge at that point. Tony shrugged.

"You're beautiful," Tony said in response, a smile pulling fast across his face.

"You're drunk."

"Not actually. I've been....it takes a lot to get me drunk." Tony had to actually be self-destructing before he got to the point where he was drunk. The last time was, well, probably his birthday party when he was dying. "The buzz, though, that gives me some necessary courage."

James narrowed his eyes, his head canting to the left slightly. He was watching Tony, practically examining him, and Tony wasn't sure if James was trying to figure him out or trying to figure out how to kill him. Tony was suddenly, vividly, reminded that he was locked in a bathroom with a man who had had his arm pressed against Tony's throat. His _metal_ arm.

"Courage?" That question from James knocked Tony out of his own thoughts. He smiled again, quick and wide, but he didn't say anything. He did move forward, he did reach out, hand gripping James's hip and tugging him forward. He moved his hand up James's side, moving it under the hoodie and the t-shirt James was wearing. His fingers touched bare skin, and he felt James quiver at the touch, heard his breath catch.

"Courage," Tony said, his smile faint, his voice soft. He stepped closer to James even as James moved closer to him, possibly at the urging of Tony's hand pressed against James's warm side, but Tony was willing to assume that no one forced this man to do anything, that he moved toward Tony for the same reason that Tony moved toward him.

"You can stop me at any time," Tony said, though he knew he didn't need to. The bruises that were forming on his throat from James's arm were already throbbing in time to Tony's pulse. James knew he held the real power in this situation.

James didn't respond, didn't protest, didn't tell him to stop. It was James who lifted his hand, tangling his fingers in Tony's hair as he urged him forward. Tony's mouth was partly open when he found James's mouth pressed against his. It wasn't deep or even all that heated. It was brief, searching, curious almost.

They were strangers, after all.

Their next kiss was not brief, there was teeth and tongue and James making quiet, almost desperate sounds with every touch of Tony's hands. Well, Tony pretended they were James's sounds, but he knew that those sounds could have just as easily have come from him. There was something intoxicating about this, something illicit, something almost dangerous.

Both of his hands moved to James's waist, fingers slipping under James's shirt again to grip his sides,pulling his closer, a movement which allowed his hands to slide further up under his shirt. Which was difficult, more complicated that Tony thought it should be with the hoodie in the way. James thought the same, clearly, when he pulled back with a quiet frustrated sound. He tugged the hoodie off, tossing it to the side before returning to Tony's arms, mouth finding Tony's easily.

Now, now Tony could slide his hands up the curve of James's back, the shirt pushed up with each movement of his hands. James's fingers tightened in Tony's hair, tugging gently, pulling back to break the renewed kiss. Tony pressed his forehead to James's, breathing deeply, getting lost in the scent and the taste of the other man.

Tony pulled back slightly, his hand pushing James's shirt up, baring the skin of his flat stomach, and Tony ducked down, pressing his mouth to the curve of James's stomach around his belly button. The sound James made in response made Tony's smile turn a little bit wicked against James's skin, and he let his tongue flick out against his skin briefly.

That sound came again. Louder this time.

That was what made Tony drop to his knees. That sound, the faint quiver of James's muscles, the shiver that went through the man's body as Tony went to his knees in front of him. He pressed his forehead against James's stomach, his hands touching as much of his bare skin as Tony could, but it wasn't much. They weren't naked, and Tony made a disappointed sound in response to that realization.

James laughed, the sound rumbling through him and through Tony. Tony's fingers slipped under the waistband of James's pants, tracing the stark line of his hipbone as best he could. He couldn't do much touching with the pants still fastened, at least under the clothes. He did the next best thing. He ran fingers over the slight bulge in the front of James's pants.

Tony's eyes were focused on James's face when he pressed the flat of his palm against the bulge. His mouth was parted, his eyes half-closed, his breathing shallow, and his hands tightened in Tony's hair. That was all the permission that Tony really needed or wanted as he pulled part James's belt, popping the button on his pants just as easily.

Tony stroked his hand down the length of James's dick, using his other hand to spread open James's pants, to give him as much room as possible. Tony leaned forward, licking at the drop of precome that leaked out of the tip, and he was rewarded with a desperate growl from James, a sound that only made Tony grin as he looked up James's body. James actually rolled his eyes, though, and used his hold in Tony's hair to urge his head back down and forward, and all Tony could do was laugh again before he took the head of James's cock into his mouth.

It felt like the easiest thing in the world to move his mouth forward, to take James deeper, and he was only helped along by James's hand on the back of his head. Somewhere in the back of Tony's mind was a voice pointing out that he didn't really know this man, that he was on his knees in a dirty bathroom in the back of a bar, that he was going to have to explain the bruises on his throat in the morning, but none of that really mattered. Because James's cock was leaking precome down his throat, and the taste was better than anything else Tony had ever tasted in his life.

That was probably the alcohol talking, though, but Tony fell into an easy rhythm, one that James's hand didn't even need to set as he moved back up and then down the length of him again, taking him as deep as he could without choking. He looked up the length of James's body again, watching James bite his lip hard as Tony took him deep in his mouth again. A tiny drop of blood from his bitten lip was obvious as he opened his mouth to gasp for air, and Tony laughed against around the length of him, which only earned him a gutteral sound and fingers twisting in his hair in response.

Tony closed his eyes and focused on his movements up and down the length of James's cock, focused on the way James's hand clenched and unclenched in Tony's hair until finally his fingers clenched and he thrust his hips forward, driving himself deep into Tony's mouth as James came with a shout. Tony tried to swallow as much as he could, even as some leaked out as he slid his mouth off of James's dick.

James was breathless, Tony was breathless, and the taste of James was still heavy and delightful on his tongue when James pulled him to his feet and back to him. His lips quirked just before he kissed Tony, deeply, deeply enough that he had to have tasted himself in Tony's mouth. There was a desperate sort of sound, and Tony wasn't sure if it was him or James, but any thought about figuring out which one of them sounded so needy went out of his head when he felt James's hand, the metal one tugging at Tony's belt.

"James, you don't-...." Tony didn't need anything to be reciprocated. He had just gotten a taste of the most beautiful man he had ever seen. He was good.

"Shut up, Tony," James said, but he sounded amused more than annoyed as he got his hand in to Tony's pants, his fingers wrapping around his cock, and Tony nearly came unglued just from that touch. James laughed just as he leaned in to kiss Tony deeply again, his free hand coming up to Tony's side so he could maneuver him back against the door.

Tony saw nothing but stars, bright white light behind his eyelids, as James moved his hand, applying the right amount of pressure with every movement. James kept their mouths together, like he couldn't get enough of the taste of Tony, but also to swallow the sounds Tony was making. It didn't take long, everything about this entire night from the buzz in his head to the man in front of him, it was too much, and soon enough Tony was coming, spilling over James's hand.

Tony was pretty sure he shouted James's name into the kiss, but honestly, Tony couldn't think clearly right then, so it may have just been incoherent sounds. James's smile was breathless as he finally pulled his hand away, actually licking the come off of his metal fingers, a sight that made Tony's knees go weak and he knew he was two seconds away from deciding he was keeping James for a good long while.

"Clean yourself up, Tony," James said, his voice amused and teasing as he used his hand that was still at Tony's waist to pull him forward and over to the sink. "Everyone already assumes we're fucking in here, we don't need to prove them right." Tony laughed, bracing his hands on the sink as he just tried to keep himself standing. He didn't see James fix his own pants or unlock the door, he only looked up when he heard the door open and close behind him.

"Fuck," Tony said, bowing his head before he shook himself and focused on actually making himself look presentable. By the time he left the bathroom and walked down the hall, James gone. He paid the bar tab, called for his car, and that was that.

Until several weeks later (or maybe months, Tony lost track when he was working or brooding or just avoiding what little responsibilities he had as a billionaire playboy anymore), when Steve called him in for an Avengers meeting. There was some big threat, something big and cosmic and deadly, and they needed all hands on deck. He followed Steve into the meeting room, and there was James. Dressed in black leather, sitting at Steve's right hand, like he belonged there, and for a moment, Tony was struck dumb.

Speechless. Again.

It took Natasha clearing her throat for Tony to shake himself out of staring.

But Tony had a hard time concentrating on the meeting. His eyes kept drifting to James, his mind going over all of the questions he had. He tried not to stare, mostly because he couldn't help but notice the way Steve was staring right back at him. Worried, concerned, and annoyed all at once.

But James's eyes remained on the file on the table in front of him, and maybe he didn't remember. Maybe James had been drunker than Tony thought, maybe it was something else, maybe he really, really shouldn't have followed James into the bathroom of a dive bar. He forced himself to pay attention to the briefing, trying to figure out why he was being called back in, called back to the team. The briefing was a blur, though, his focus on James, his breathing hitching every time James spoke.

It was ridiculous.

He shook his head, looking down and doing his damndest to focus on whoever was speaking. He found himself doodling in the margins of the papers in front of him. Nothing definite, new designs, old designs, what James's metal arm must look like, which was something he scribbled over because it only made his mind drift to wondering if he would ever actually get to see it.

Which was likely never to happen.

Once the meeting was done and everyone got their assignments (and Tony made a note to ask Natasha what exactly was his assignment because he had tuned Steve out after an hour of trying not to stare at James), Tony shoved the papers he'd been doodling on into the file folder. The file folder went under his arm, and he pushed his chair back from the meeting table.

He was halfway to the door before Steve caught his arm and forced him to turn around. He was sure that Steve was saying something, probably about the way he was staring at James, Tony apparently seemed to be angry and Steve seemed to be trying to smooth something over. Tony didn't really get why or what Steve was talking about, and honestly, he had no inclination to pay attention.

Because James was there, hovering just behind Steve's shoulder, and he hadn't taken his eyes off of Tony since Steve started talking.

"Cap," Tony said, cutting Steve off mid-sentence. "Everything's fine. What's wrong with you?" He managed to tear his eyes off of James long enough to give Steve his best smile. He had questions, of course he did. Questions about what James was doing there, why he was right behind Steve, how he even knew Steve, was this confirmation of the one thing Tony was actually, really terrified of that wasn't aliens dropping from the sky, how the hell exactly was Tony Stark supposed to compete with Steve Rogers?

But this was neither the time nor the place for Tony's insecurities regarding living his life near Steve Rogers. He gave Steve another smile, a friendly pat on the shoulder, and he finally made it through the door without getting stopped.

Not down the hallway, though, because James caught up with him, grabbing his arm and slinging Tony around to press him against the wall.

"Bucky," Tony said, the only protest he gave to being pushed against the wall in a none-too-gently way.

"James," he said, correcting Tony just before he leaned in, pressing his lips to Tony's without saying another word. Tony gave a small sound at that, his arms coming up to wrap around James's waist, fingers tangling in the belt loops of James's uniform. He wasn't sure if that grip was to pull the other man closer or to try and push him away.

He compromised, pulling James away from him, but he moved with him, turning so that he could press James against the wall without breaking that kiss. His hands moved to James's waist, the file falling to the floor in the process, tugging at the top of the uniform, trying to get the leather out of the way, trying to actually touch James's skin. That was what he had been craving ever since the bar, never even realizing it until he saw James again.

"No." And that was an order, given as the kiss broke and both of them were gasping for air, and it made Tony's hands fall away from James immediately, pressing flat against the wall on either side of James's hips. He didn't move away from James but he stopped touching.

"No?" Tony needed a clarification, really, he wasn't really protesting the need to stop, but right then, words were not his strong suit. Not with James so close, not with each pant for air from both of them pressing their chests together, not with James's mouth so temptingly close.

"Not here. Not where Steve..." James didn't finish his sentence, glancing over Tony's shoulder towards the door for the meeting room.

"Not where Steve can kill me with one hit," Tony said, glancing back at the door and finally forcing himself back and away from James. Just in case anyone came out of that door looking for both of them. Tony bent down to gather the dropped file, glancing back at the door again before he straightened and kissed James quick and deep for a moment.

"I don't think Steve would actually kill you," James said when the kiss broke, shrugging and smirking at the same time.

"I think you're giving him too much credit in that regard." Tony reached up with his free hand, smoothing James's hair back, fingers tugging the long strands gently. He glanced back at that door, taking a deep breath, before he said, "Come to the Tower. I'll make sure Friday knows you're coming."

Tony didn't give James a chance to reply, not when the meeting room doors burst open again, and Natasha and Wilson stepped out, discussing Steve's plan, and Tony used the sudden noise to make his own exit, heading down the hall with only one glance back at James.

Tony would deny it if anyone asked, but he paced his penthouse until the sun went down. He was sure that something had happened, that Steve had figured it out and forbidden his friend from doing anything with Tony. He was two seconds away from calling someone and making a fool of himself asking about Bucky Barnes when he heard the elevator ding.

"Friday?" he said, just in case this was an attack and not an expected guest.

"James Buchanan Barnes, sir," Friday's mechanized voice said just as the elevator doors opened. Tony was already heading across the room by the time the doors finished opening. James greeted him with a kiss, hands pushing at Tony's clothes, and Tony's hands were pushing at James's.

They left a trail of clothes from the elevator to the bedroom.

It was hours later before they finally finished, both collapsing in exhaustion, but by the time that Tony woke up for his nightly 2 a.m. trip down to work in his lab, James gone. No note, nothing.

The next evening he was back, though, and it became a pattern, a familiar one. James would usually be gone before Tony woke up or would leave shortly after they finished, and they never talked about where James went. It was just one of the rules. Something simple and accepted.

That pattern didn't change until the night it did, when Tony woke up, his internal clock telling him that he had been asleep long enough, whether it was for an hour or less, it didn't matter, there was work in his lab, in his garage, somewhere in the building to be done. Working kept his mind off of other, worse things, but it was different this time. He came awake suddenly, like always, and he had already pushed the heavy metal arm off his stomach before he realized that that was different.

James didn't stay. He had always intended to ask James if he just never needed sleep, but obviously, that was a question he didn't need the answer to anymore. The clock on his bedside said that he had been asleep for four hours, a record, and James had stayed.

He was on his stomach, head turned away from Tony, metal arm still splayed across the bed where Tony had been second before. He was torn. Should he wake him? Maybe he had places to be, wherever it was that he went in the evenings, or maybe Steve was out looking for him. He assumed that that was where James was when he wasn't doing horrible, indecent things with Tony. But before he could think to shake the other man awake, Tony got distracted.

His hand was on the metal shoulder, fingers cupping the cold metal gently, but his eyes, those were locked on the spiderweb of scarring that burst out from the edge of the metal. He leaned down, settling back on the bed, careful to avoid the arm, not because he was worried about cutting off circulation, of course not, the arm was metal, but he worried that it might wake James up, and despite what he had been intending to do, Tony didn't want James to wake up, didn't want him to leave.

His fingers left the metal shoulders, moving up to ghost across the scars on what was left of James's shoulder. He wasn't rough, he didn't press, he merely traced the scars. Each one, one by one, and he didn't stop until he felt James shift his weight. He held himself still as James moved his head, moving so he was facing Tony, but his eyes remained closed, his breathing was even, and Tony felt like that was close enough to permission to keep up his tentative exploration.

This time he didn't stop until he felt like he was being watched. He glanced up to find James's hooded blue eyes staring at him.

Tony hesitated, his fingers still lightly touching the scars, but they were no longer moving. Finally, he said, "Poor craftsmanship."

Which only got him a confused look in return. "I don't-..."

"Anyone who had any kind of skill at these things," Tony said, his voice quiet even as he cut off what James had been meaning to say, "They would have taken care of both the metal and the skin that it was being attached to." He offered a smile that was barely there and probably wasn't visible in the dark. "They wouldn't have left scars."

James's eyes darkened then, and Tony was suddenly reminded that he was in bed with possibly the world's best assassin. He could be killed, and no one would even know who else had been there. Pepper had made Tony disable the cameras in his bedroom, after all, and Tony had never turned them back on. "I don't think they cared," James said. Instead of lashing out, though, James moved his arm away from Tony.

James cleared his throat and sat up. He moved in the dim light of the room, and Tony assumed he was looking for his clothes. "Besides. It wasn't them that left scars." James glanced back at him, and Tony could only shake his head with confusion. Until James turned, facing Tony more as he lifted his other arm, splayed his fingers out, four fingers perfectly matching four scars as he pressed his fingers hard into the skin and dragged them across.

Tony exhaled at that, and he placed his hand on top of James's linking their fingers as he pulled their hands away from the scars. Tony leaned forward then, pressing his mouth to first one scar, then another, tracing each one with his mouth until James was breathing shallow. Tony brought his other hand up to pull James back down on the bed with him.

James was still breathing shallow, softly, his eyes on Tony, and Tony knew he should back away, hold his hands out to show he meant no harm, but when had showing sense ever been one of Tony's stronger character traits?

"You should let me work on it."

Confusion again as James settled onto his side, but he didn't try to move away from Tony. "There's nothing you can do. It's not detachable."

"Right, right, not without doing more damage, and I'm not a surgeon, and I'm pretty sure Doctor Cho would not agree to help me cut off a perfectly serviceable arm." Tony shrugged, turning their hands to press his fingers first against James's wrist, then against his palm. "But I can work on it. Make it work better at least." He offered a very slight smile that probably wasn't big enough to be visible in the dim light of the bedroom. "You're carrying around, what, tech from at least the fifties, if not the forties?" He grinned then, quick and wide, "I'm pretty sure we can do something better than that."

He pressed the palm of his hand against James's, relaxing as the other man moved his fingers to wrap around Tony's wrist, the thumb stroking over the pulse in Tony's wrist. He didn't say anything to what Tony was offering, though. "Your heart's pounding," he said instead, his voice suddenly dubious and doubtful, and it was Tony's turn to be confused. The doubt threw him off.

"A new project always gets me worked up."

"Most people would be terrified."

"Of you?" Tony shook his head. "Do you honestly think I am anything remotely like most people?"

James didn't answer, but Tony could swear he saw a smile, something faint and quickly hidden in the dim light, but that was good enough.

"Since you haven't pulled away, haven't disappeared into the night, and aren't slitting my throat, I'm taking that as a yes." He sat up then, one leg off the side of the bed. He was already planning, plotting things, trying to come up to the schematics for a mechanical arm from the early twentieth century. He must have gotten a distant look on his face, because he heard a laugh, a small bark of sound before he felt James's hand tighten as he pulled him back onto the bed.

"You can figure out the arm later," he said just before he pulled Tony down into a kiss.

And he did. Mostly. Kind of. It was awkward, in between meetings and missions, trying to slip out of the main rooms to head to his lab and down to James, but they made it work, they made progress, and Tony was honestly having fun. He hadn't moved into the Compound, but he might as well have since he spent more time there than in the Tower anymore. It was easier to be around James that way. They still spent their nights together in the penthouse, of course, but their days? Those were spent in the lab. Well. When the world wasn't ending, and James didn't need to go be a hero.

Tony wasn't officially back on the team. He was still in reserve. Rhodey was a better option, and Tony said that every time anyone even kind of mentioned Tony officially rejoining the team. It was better this way.

When he walked into his lab today, though, something was different. The room was darker than it should have been. Half the lights out even though they shouldn't have been, they were automatic, motion-activated, and Tony narrowed his eyes as he stepped into the room. He clenched his fist, prepared to call a suit to him if this was an attack. It would take a while, of course. Tony had no spare suits at the Compound.

He only kind of relaxed when Nicky Fury stepped out of the shadows.

"Did you break my lab just so you could be dramatic?" Tony said, moving around to the work table that he and James usually devoted to their work. And other things. Tony probably shouldn't mention those other things to Fury.

"Yes," he said, even rolling his eye as he said that. Fury was carrying a file in his hands, and Tony's attention was drawn immediately to the old SSR logo on the front, on the 'CLASSIFIED' stamp over it. "We need to talk about the company you're keeping."

"Aw, Dad, you don't like my friends?" Tony's heart wasn't in the sarcasm, though. He could only think of a few reasons that Fury would have an old SSR file, and just who it had to deal with. Of course Tony's thoughts always returned back to James. It all always circled back to James. Tony's stomach dropped because this...well, this was the end, wasn't it? Someone was coming in just to shatter Tony's delusion of a perfect life, a perfect man, a perfect relationship.

"There's stuff you need to know," Fury said, but Tony held up a hand to cut off whatever else Fury might have wanted to say.

"I know who he is. I know what happened to him." Tony leaned back against the work table, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Not everything. Read the file," Fury said, offering the file out to Tony, who just looked down at it with sudden fear mixing with the dread in his stomach.

"I don't like to be handed things," he said automatically.

"I don't care. Read the file." Tony exhaled. The sound came out as more of a huff than anything as he took the file. He flipped through it, reading the papers quickly, skimming the details that he already knew. It was James's file, of course it was, and Tony only paused when pictures fell out, old and grainy. James in his World War II uniform, James in what looked like a stasis pod, James, his eyes blank, staring at the camera.

Tony only closed the file with a snap when he reached a sheaf of papers dated December 16, 1991.

"You're not done reading."

"I've read enough," Tony said as he offered out the file to Fury. "I really don't need to know whether or not my parents were murdered or if it really was just some kind of horrific accident because my dad had had a little too much to drink before they'd left. I smelled the alcohol on him before he even stepped out the door, and I should have said something..."

"Read the file, Stark. Do not make me ask again." Fury's words were a command, and Tony frowned at him but he took the file back, opening it back to the section he had wanted to avoid. There were pictures here too. Autopsy pictures, results, details about how his mother was suffocated while his father died from blunt-force trauma, and then, the last image in the file, a video still.

An image of James Buchanan Barnes aiming a gun at the camera, his parents' bodies and car in the background. It was clearly him. Someone wanted the Winter Soldier to be plainly on camera for this.

"Steve knows about this. Doesn't he?" Tony didn't even need to make that last bit a question. He didn't need an answer. He knew.

"He suspects." Tony scoffed at that. It was hedging. It was as good as a yes. "I haven't shown him this file. _He_ doesn't need the specifics." Fury moved around the table, dragging one of the stools with him to place it besides where Tony was leaning against the worktable. He sat down, reaching out as he did so to tap the video still that Tony couldn't take his eyes off of. "We don't know why HYDRA sent him after Howard. We don't know why they needed it on video."

"Proof of completion," Tony said with a shrug, "Or blackmail," and he coughed before finally passing the file back to Fury. He wanted it out of his hands, wanted this...this proof that Tony didn't get to be happy, didn't get to keep the one person who seemed to actually want to be around him, that something would always show up to take that away, if it wasn't aliens, it was...it was this.

He rubbed a hand over his eyes. He wasn't going to breakdown. He wasn't. He wasn't going to go into his famous downward spirals, the ones that end up on the front page. He wasn't. Probably. Fury was watching him like he was, of course, but Tony swallowed, took a deep breath, and sat up straight. Steeled himself. He would get through this like everything else.

"You needed all the information."

"Yeah, I know. Thank you. Get out," Tony said, focusing on Fury. Who just frowned at him and raised an eyebrows.

"No," Fury said, tilting his head at Tony, who just seemed to deflate, "Not yet." Fury shook his head. "I'm not here to tell you to stop seeing Barnes. I don't care who you're fucking, but if things progressed with you two before you found out...." It would have been bad. Epically bad. 'Tear the team apart in a rain of blood and fire' bad.

"I'm already half in love with him, Nick." Tony's voice was quiet, a whisper, and it was the first time he had admitted that to anyone. First time he had even admitted that to himself.

"Maybe you should say that to me, not to the head of a defunct spy organization."

"That's harsh, Barnes," Fury said, actually getting up off the stool. He set the file on the worktable next to Tony's hand that was wrapped around the edge of the table.

"Maybe you shouldn't be speaking to each other," Tony said, his voice sounding too loud, event to his own ears. "You killed him." Tony looked up at James, then back down at the floor.

"We've worked that out," James said, moving into the lab, closer to Tony. They didn't say anything else, not until the sound of Fury's footsteps faded into the background before being swallowed by the sound of the door opening and closing behind him. "Friday. Lock the doors, please."

Tony scoffed at James giving orders to _his_ AI, but Friday complied, the door locks sounding extremely loud in a lab that was still too quiet.

"Did you know about my parents? About what they did to them?" Tony said that, but he didn't look up from the floor. He kept his hands to himself, fingers still curled around the edge of his work table as he stared down at a speck of...something on the floor. He didn't dare look up. If he looked at James - at Bucky - then he would be lost, and all of his hard thought and hard won resolve would fall away.

"Not at the bar, and by the time I realized who you were, I had no proof, no way to bring it up without...." James's voice ( _Bucky's voice_ , Tony was going to have to keep reminding himself that he couldn't call the man James anymore, that he was Bucky Barnes, he wasn't Tony's, Tony couldn't name him anymore), his voice was stronger than it had been just a few days ago, definitely stronger and more certain than it had been when they had first met.

"Until Fury dug up a death report and a file and something HYDRA probably buried because HYDRA was S.H.I.E.L.D. and S.H.I.E.L.D. was HYDRA and you were a weapon...." Tony didn't finish what he was saying, he simply gestured in the vague direction of his temple. He didn't _want_ to bring up the brainwashing, his parents, Bucky's past, everything that he had done, everything that had been done to him, everything that had been in the file. "I read the whole report." He shrugged. "Skimmed the whole report. It went on for decades," he finally said.

"Do you want me to leave?" Tony finally looked up at Bucky then, but he looked away just as fast, focusing on a spot on the wall, then the floor, desperate for something else to focus on.

"God, no. You're..." Tony swallowed, shaking his head. "The only thing that makes sense anymore."

"Howard Stark managed to create a version of the super-soldier serum, and my handlers thought...," Bucky trailed off with a shrug. He was avoiding what Tony had just said, of course, Tony would have avoided the subject too if he could take the words back. He was torn on whether he wanted to take them back. "They thought it would work." Tony had no choice but to look at Bucky as the other man stepped closer.

"Did it?" Tony's voice was soft, quiet, and his fingers curled tighter around the table, and his knuckles turned white from the effort it took not to reach out and pull Bucky to him. He didn't have to reach out, not when Bucky moved close enough that he could feel the body heat from the other man, Tony's mouth opened and he angled his chin up slightly. He wanted to kiss the skin of Bucky's jaw, the line of his neck, feel the other man's pulse under his tongue.

"Yes." Bucky's head had dropped forward, his temple almost resting against Tony's. All of this almost touching was going to kill Tony. All of this almost touching before everything ended. "You didn't think I was the only Winter Soldier, did you?" Tony had to look up at that point, looking at Bucky's face, making sure that he wasn't joking, that this wasn't some kind of trick. "I need to go to Siberia, to the old base. I need you with me. I need the team with me. We have to...they probably put them in stasis after Soviet Union fell, they're probably still alive."

"Jesus Christ, Buck," Tony said, the words coming out in a rush of breath. He had seen the videos from the fight on the helicarriers over Washington D.C., he had seen the CCTV video from the fight in the streets. Bucky had been nearly feral, dangerous, and he had nearly killed Steve Rogers multiple times. If those other soldiers were anything like Bucky...

"I told you. It's James," Bucky said, his voice soft this time, and he moved his head, his temple actually pressing against Tony's now. Tony swallowed hard and looked back down at the floor, pressing his head against Bucky's even as he fought to keep his heart rate under control. To keep his baser urges under control.

"So what do we do now, James?" Tony said, his voice a whisper. There was no need to speak louder. Of course not, not with Bucky so close, but he was also hoping James hadn't heard the question. Tony didn't want to answer he was dreading.

"We go to Siberia. We fight some super-soldiers. We come home. Whether that's to the Compound or the Tower, I don't care," Bucky said, his tone just as soft, his voice just as quiet as Tony's. "You are what matters...this is what matters," Bucky said.

And that was what made Tony look up then, mouth opened, prepared to argue with that statement, but Bucky was too close, and Tony's nose bumped Bucky's jaw, his mouth pressed against the skin, and he couldn't help tasting the other man as his tongue darted out. Bucky shivered, just a little, and Tony finally took his hands away from the edges of the table to come up to grip Bucky's sides, his fingers tangling in the fabric of Bucky's shirt.

"But I need to make sure that we're okay, that what's in the file is okay," Bucky said, his voice continuing to be the soft, quiet tone, but with Tony's mouth pressed against Bucky's neck, he could feel the words vibrating through him. "I killed your parents."

"I know." Tony hadn't really processed it yet, of course, but he would eventually, he would mourn his mother again, change how much he hated his father since, well, it wasn't Howard's drunkenness that got them killed, not entirely. Instead of processing it right then, though, Tony let his eyes fall shut as he got lost in being this close to Bucky. It was always like this, easier to forget about everything outside of the room they were in, everything outside of the two of them.

"Are we okay, Tony?"

"You're dangerous, the kind of person people used to warn me about, James," Tony said, but that didn't answer the question, not really, and he shook his head just a little. "But...I think we're gonna be okay. Eventually. Maybe." No, he was absolutely sure they would be okay. Stuff with Steve? That was what might take some time. Steve had kept things from him, even just the suspicion of it, plus Tony had basically just kinda stolen his best friend. There would need to be words.

It was difficult to speak with his mouth against Bucky's skin, but Tony wasn't about to remove it, not with the way Bucky shivered with every word, how his breath caught, the way his fingers tangled in Tony's hair, as if he wanted a decent hand-hold. It was intoxicating, and Tony had an addictive personality.

"You think?" Bucky was laughing, or he sounded like he was, his voice amused, his tone light, and he pressed his lips against Tony's temple, "You're gonna end up breaking my heart, Iron Man, and you deserve someone who isn't two steps above feral, who doesn't bite at the first sign of kindness," Bucky said.

"I don't mind biting," Tony said, lifting his head to look up at Bucky. He took his hand away from Bucky's side to touch his fingers against Bucky's temple. "Are we sure the programming is completely broken? I don't know how deep HYDRA's brainwashing went..." And the last thing Tony wanted was to die at the hands of the beautiful man he had practically dragged into his bed.

Bucky blinked at him before turning his head slightly and kissing Tony's palm. "I'll get help. I'll talk to Fury. See if he knows anyone who can check."

Tony made a soft sound in his throat. "I told you, don't talk to Fury. You did kill him." That comment got his hair tugged, sharply, it was almost playful, but Tony felt it was also a warning to maybe never mention the Fury thing again, but then there was a slight bit of pressure, urging Tony's head back to where it had been before, his mouth against Bucky's skin. He sighed, enjoying the shiver he got in response, the tightening of his hair in Bucky's hands.

Tony took his hands away from Bucky, pressing them against the edge of the table just so he could stand up. His hands went immediately back to Bucky's side to keep him from moving away, though, keeping him close, keeping him pressed close enough that they were sharing body heat and air. This close, Tony didn't even think twice as he leaned in to capture Bucky's mouth, it was the most natural thing in the world, always the easiest thing Tony had ever done.

Tony made an almost desperate sound in his throat when Bucky stopped kissing him. "Stay. Here. With me. I'll rejoin the team. We'll go to Siberia. It'll be our first couples vacation!" Tony grinned before he kissed Bucky again, something quick, as if to seal the deal.

"It's not a vacation, Stark," Bucky said, the corners of his mouth turning up even as he rolled his eyes. Tony couldn't tell if it was a smile or a smirk.

Tony scoffed, then pulled Bucky into a deep kiss.


End file.
